The Beach
by Doofram
Summary: Picking up after the Christmas Special left off- Baxter and Molesley bond by the beach.


The breeze swept through Phyllis Baxter's cardigan as she meandered down the beach, lost in her thoughts, occasionally bending down to inspect a shell or stopping to stare out into the sea.

After Mrs. Baxter's confession to Mr. Molesley, he had been quickly called back up for another round of football, and although he tried to protest the calls of his staff teammates, Mrs. Baxter had smiled, "I'll be alright, Mr. Molesley. Besides, they'll be needing their star player."

He had grinned back at her then, and long after he'd hoisted himself back up to play she'd found him looking at her, surreptitiously checking to see if she was watching him victoriously maneuver the ball through the opposing team members. At one point he had scored, and she had cheered and clapped along with the others, even allowing herself a little chuckle when he shortly thereafter slipped in the sand with the ball.

But, despite the cheery rays of the sun and the glowing tingles of something new in her soul, Mrs. Baxter soon found herself unable to stay on the blanket. She had to move about- she had to move because she could feel the little itch of fear at the back of her mind and she had to think. She had to think because now everything with Mr. Barrow had changed completely.

Which was why she'd gone exploring along the shoreline, and why she was now quite a ways from the others, staring out into the open sea and imagining what it must be like to just float on the salty water and not worry about the past and the future. She steeped a tentative toe into the water, shivering at the temperature, before grabbing her skirt and sidling forward until the water was up to her ankles.

'_I'm free,'_ she thought with a strange wave of calm.

"Mrs. Baxter!"

Phyllis spun around to see Mr. Molesley trudging down the shoreline to meet her, his face twisted with weariness as he struggled to run across the sand.

"Mr. Molesley?"

Mr. Molesley slowed his gait as he came up a little ways behind her, his shoes not yet touching the water, "I..I'd wondered where you'd gone."

She gave him her little smile- the one that displayed her dimples so well, the one smile he loved, "well, here I am. Being a bit silly, I'm afraid. Would you care to join me?" She paused, "You don't have to, of course. It's really rather unbecoming that I'm out here at all."

As she spoke, Mr. Molesley peered down at her wee ankles before allowing his eyes to travel up her figure, ending at her eyes.

She did not know this: but in that moment, he thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Mr. Molesley?"

"Yes! Yes, I will." Mr. Molesley bent to untie his shoes before placing them aside and standing again to peer back evenly back at her, "how long have you been out here?"

"Not long."

He placed his feet gently into the sea and let out a little exclamation of surprise at the cold, before pausing to roll up his trousers, "are your feet quite cold?"

Mrs. Baxter stared out into the sea's horizon before turning back to her companion, "I don't feel it much, actually."

Mr. Molesley scooted forward again a couple more steps, letting out breathy hisses with each movement.

"What a wonderful idea for an outing. Mr. Carson chose very wisely." Mrs. Baxter commented, shielding her eyes from the sun.

The water was now up to their knees. Mr. Molesley turned to say something about the fact that it truly was a perfect day for the beach, when he suddenly lost his footing, and with slow-motion desperation, crashed into the ocean waves- though not before unconsciously reaching out and grabbing Mrs. Baxter in the process.

The two Downton servants collapsed into the waves in an unbecoming salty spray of confusion- accompanied by a single yelp from the former butler.

The water was shallow, so it was only moments later when Mrs. Baxter rose from the water, coughing and furiously trying to rub the salt from her eyes as she stumbled back to shore. Mr. Molesley joined her shortly thereafter, sputtering and trying to apologize.

"Oh God—I am so-ECCCHH—so sorry Mrs. Baxter do forgive me—"

She had taken a seating position on a nearby rock, blinking back at him with salt-tinged eyes, wearing a completely bewildered expression that was struggling to settle on a concrete emotion of anger or joy.

"My balance.. it's rubbish-" he coughed again, "-bad equilibrium: runs in the fam-fam-fam—" he gave lease to a sneeze that sent him sprawling on the sand next to the lady's maid.

There was a pocket of silence then. Mr. Molesley squeezed his eyes shut; in part due to the stinging, but also because he couldn't bear to look at her. They had been connecting, he berated himself, and he'd gone and dunked them both into the water!

Then the silence was broken by a giggle. A child-like giggle that sounded from next to him that started out soft and sweet, but then grew to such a full-bodied laugh it became a breathless battle for air.

He turned slightly to see Mrs. Baxter, her head tipped back, her eyes screwed up in pleasure, and for a moment, the laughter cut out and no sound emitted from her open mouth. She was simply shaking with ripple after ripple of silent laughter until, finally, she took a deep breath of air and her peals of joy became audible again.

He joined in soon after, guffawing loudly, slightly confused but mostly just happy to hear her beautiful laugh and feel his tummy ache from the lack of air. He tried to apologize again, but he only managed a wheezy, "_so sorry"_ before his wheezing morphed into yet another roar of mirth.

"It's-It's alright Mr Molesley…." She struggled to calm herself, but when she turned to look down at him, all spread out flat on the beach sand, her laughter launched away again as she squealed, "_your face!"_

It took a while longer before the giggles and chortles managed to leave the two, as they would sometimes manage to stop, only to catch the other's eye and start up all over again.

When they had exhausted every last fit of merriment, the two sat in silence, staring out to sea. A breeze swept through the air and Mrs. Baxter shivered, crossing her arms.

"Perhaps we should head back?" Mr. Molesley remarked reluctantly, wishing he had brought along something to cover her with, so they would never have to return to the others.

"Yes, perhaps." She replied quietly, not moving, until she gave a little sigh and stood, "yes."

Mr. Molesley pursed his lips and, grunting a little, managed to get to his feet, and the two of them began the small walk back to meet the others.

He couldn't help but notice the way Mrs. Baxter's skirt and cardigan were clinging to her tiny form, as if they were a second skin. Within milliseconds he was imagining the way that tiny form would feel against his. She was so thin, so seemingly fragile, yet she was also one of the strongest people he knew.

He wanted to touch her. Her wrist or her elbow at the very least; at most, he wanted to pull her into his arms. He wanted to connect with her in some way to cement what had just happened, before they reached the others and settled back into their old roles. Before it was too late.

As they entered the edges of the camp where the rest of the staff stood milling about, cleaning up all the beach supplies and putting away their chairs and towels back into the car, she turned to him and smiled goofily, "thank you for a lovely afternoon, Mr. Molesley. I haven't laughed like that in a long time."

His smile came out cracked and faltering: he was running out of time. "You're welcome, Mrs. Baxter."

"Well. I'll just go and help the others-" she began, giving him a little nod and turning to head up the beach.

"Wait."

She froze mid-step.

He clenched his fingers tightly into his fist, "I.. I.." he gulped, "I think you.. may have misplaced your hat in the water."

He could've kicked himself.

Mrs. Baxter's eyebrows furrowed, and her hand went to the top of her head, finding it hat-less.

"Yes, I think I have." She gave him a weary smile, "I suppose I'll just buy another one."

She turned around once more—only this time, as if his hand were possessed by a Joseph Molesley ten times braver than he, he caught her by the wrist.

"Mr. Molesley?"

He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

She stared at him expectantly before her gaze softened. She peered around her, as if checking that the coast was clear, before she stepped forward and gave him the softest kiss on the cheek that he had ever received.

He almost died on the spot.

In fact, he couldn't even move as she walked away (wearing a little smile, mind you), back up the incline to help the others. He just stood there, contemplating his luck, contemplating the feel of her tiny wrist in his hands and the feel of her lips on his cheek. Something warm was rolling around his stomach and he felt his excitement giving way to the oddest sense of peace. A tranquility that he hadn't experienced in a very, very long time.

A sense of home.

Suddenly, until he heard Mrs. Patmore's voice, loud and screechy, from across the sand, "YES, BY ALL MEANS, MR. MOLESLEY, HAVE A LITTLE REST OVER THERE WHILE THE REST OF US PACK UP."

He jerked to attention, "Coming!"—and he floated up the beach to join the others, wearing a silly grin that curled all the way around his head.


End file.
